


Never Ever Apologise

by theosymphany



Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Midlife Crisis, Romance, Set in 2011
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-21
Updated: 2015-06-21
Packaged: 2018-04-05 10:13:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4175976
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theosymphany/pseuds/theosymphany
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“Piers.” No.“You’re a great guy.” No damn it. “But I’m not… of that orientation.” Fuck. “Let’s just keep things professional. OK?”<br/>"I"m sorry... forget I said anything."<br/>Professional. Got it.<br/>Piers Nivans signed off from Alpha Team, from North American Branch.<br/>Goodbye, Chris.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Never Ever Apologise

Things had been going so well.

He’d worked himself up all week to this moment. Everything felt right. He enjoyed his company, he seemed to enjoy his. Things were natural, at ease.

It was worth a shot.

“Chris, what do you think if we could... take this to a different level?” He nibbled at his straw, trying not to look but still sneaking peeks at his reaction.

“You mean…” The voice was thick with hesitation and uncertainty.

“We’ve been spending so much time together… I thought… perhaps we could… date?” He knew it was a disaster as soon as he started, and he ended the question as barely an audible whisper. He wanted to turn and walk away and bury himself in the ground.

“Piers.” No.

“You’re a great guy.” No damn it.

“But I’m not… of that orientation.” Fuck.

“Let’s just keep things professional. OK?” Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck. His world was fast collapsing into pieces.

“I’m sorry, forget I said anything.”

He threw a fifty on the table and walked out in pain. Roaring the hell out of town on his motorbike, trying to get as much mileage as he could between his bleeding heart and the everlasting pain of his commanding officer called Chris Redfield.

* * *

 

Chris got to work earlier than usual on Monday. He was already on his emails at 7:30, coffee in hand. He heard the usual double tap on the door. Piers came in, still with an apologetic small smile and the usual coffee for his captain. Black, one sugar along with his own. Chris looked up, tilted his chin up and raised his coffee. The smile froze on the sniper and the colour drained from his face. He could almost see his strength crumbling beneath the normally confident hazel eyes. He hated himself. He had crushed the life out of them in a split second. They were now a cold and distant abyss.

He felt awful. The brown haired lieutenant gave a small, silent, nod. Shuffled backwards uneasily and closed the door quietly behind him. He busied himself reading the same email twenty times for the rest of that morning. The flower bed outside his office smelled like coffee for the rest of that day.

* * *

 

If the morning started on a bad note, personal training was even worse. Piers usually gave orders then sparred with Chris, but the officer kept himself occupied with the rookies, demonstrating moves, giving instruction, avoiding contact at all costs.

He worked out a sweat anyway; the punching bag never knew what caused such abuse. His unfortunate partner might have sore arms from holding that thing for the rest of the week.

He took a lap of the locker room after they cleaned up. Chris would usually leave his dirty gear out for him to take to laundry. This time, there was nothing but empty benches. He frowned, and tried to drown himself at the showers again.

* * *

 

Two polite knocks on her office door. She wasn’t expecting any visitors on a Wednesday afternoon.

“Jill. Can we talk?” It was North American Branch’s top agent and sniper, Piers Nivans.

“Piers, yes, I’m free. Shoot.” She gave a warm smile at the sight of her favourite young team member. Piers was fast becoming Chris’ right hand man and the pride of her branch. She had a hint of worry though watching the uneasy, pained expression on his usually charming and composed face.

“Jill, can I request a transfer?” He was looking down, tracing the shapes of the lines on the mahogany of her desk.

“A transfer? What’s wrong? I thought everything was swell in Alpha Team?” Thin brows furrowed and she leaned forward to gaze into the distraught hazel eyes.

 _Damn it Chris, what have you done to Piers_? It could only have been Chris.

She sighed as she heard the bits that Piers told her, and filled in the bits that he didn’t based on what she knew of Chris.

“I can transfer you to Echo Team. They could use a marksman and an officer in their ranks.” She offered. Perhaps they just needed some time and distance to work things out.

“Ma’am, I was hoping for a different type of transfer…”

It was a long meeting, and she sighed at the end watching the despondent lieutenant stagger back to the range. She hopes she’d done the right thing.

* * *

 

Chris had been feeling awful all week.

Much as he tried to avoid the issue, his mind kept coming back to Piers. Had he really told him the truth? Was he genuinely not interested or avoiding the issue? It was always work first, work last. Chris had forgotten how to have a personal life. He’d spend so long telling his soldiers to have a life that that was his life.

They never had a chance to talk all week. Piers avoided him, and he found himself turning back each last moment as he approached his door, or when he was coming up to him.

He wandered, and his boots took him to the gun range. He heard the sounds of target practice.

He walked in and got out his 909. Perhaps they could both make some amends shooting side by side.

It was a different sound that he was used to hearing. Not the steady, calculated shots of the rifle, but bursts of intense fire. He walked in the almost empty room, footsteps hidden behind the gunfire and put his earmuffs on.

His lieutenant was using his machine pistol for a change. Spraying liberally over his target. He still didn’t miss a shot, rastering and pelting the humanoid target from toe to head methodically, chipping the wood bit by bit until it disintegrated to nothing after 150 rounds. What the fuck was he doing?

Another target was loaded, and another target was destroyed with ruthless efficiency. If that was a man, it would have be one of the most painful ways to die.

He saw the marksman turned, and nodded at recognition of his commanding officer. He packed the target, got his gun and took off his visor, leaving earmuffs on.

“Hey.” Chris said, raising his 909. Perhaps they could do with a bit of friendly competition?

The footstep paused, indecisive for a second, and Chris tried what he thought was a warm smile.

The boot fell, the smallest shook of the head, and the lieutenant left the room without another glance.

Fuck.

He’d really fucked things up.

He picked up his own assault rifle and loaded the target. He tried copying what his lieutenant did to chain nicely rastered shots. Instead, the recoil made a mess of things, and he missed more than he hit.

Furious, he loaded another target, and another, and another, spraying and frying all his pent up frustration and anger in bursts of gunpower and shells.

Fuck this.

Fuck this to hell.

* * *

 

Each time Chris and Piers crossed paths they could feel the ever widening gulf between them. The rest of Alpha Team were already shell shocked as once coherent unit began to polarise into some form of power struggle between captain and lieutenant who refused to acknowledge each other. The lieutenant still followed the Captain’s every command, but the once warm admiration and camaraderie was lost, replaced by a grey, detached stoicism and impersonal demeanour more akin to a robot.

“Don’t you guys worry about me.” The lieutenant finally said to the team on Friday. “This too shall pass.”

* * *

 

It was Monday again.

Chris didn’t get his morning coffee. He’d stopped buying it since Monday, hoping that Piers would still give the polite two taps and bring it in with a smile. He missed his morning coffee, but he missed the warm smile, the coffee coloured hair, the caramel tan shirt and the honey hazel eyes even more than he’d imagine.  It was 8:30, no sign of Piers.

He sighed, and went to his mail room to check everything.

He saw a slip of paper that made his heart sank.

**> Transfer authorisation **

>Effective Immediately, Piers Nivans will cease operations in Alpha Team until further notice.

>Lt. Col. Jill Valentine

_What the fuck?_

Chris went to the locker room to see if he could catch Piers arriving in. He deserved more than this. Piers owed him an explanation.

Piers’ locker was open.

Empty.

He ran to the gun range. His locker there was emptied too. His trusty MP-AF was gone, but the rifle, the anti-material rifle that Chris ordered just for him, sat in the corner amongst the shared arms. Rejected, abandoned, left behind by its owner.

Chris ran his hand over the square lines and cold steel, feeling the isolation of a banished tool to his partner. Feeling like he’s been kicked in the guts.

He’s gone.

And left him behind.

* * *

 

“Jill!” He cornered her in her office.

“What the fuck is this?” He was furious, staring with the rage of a thousand suns into the icy blue eyes, defying her rank, defying her reinstated position as a board member, defying her stake in the BSAA as a founder just as he was.

“A transfer order.” Her voice was every bit as icy as the silence in her eyes.

“Why?” Chris felt betrayed. Jill was his partner. They went through hell and back together. Fuck. He was the one who brought her back.

“It’s good for his career to move around.” Thin lips pursed, and she sat unfazed at her desk despite he leaning forward and putting both large palms on the mahogany.

“Whose team? Bravo? Charlie? Echo? What can they give him that I couldn’t?”

“Space. And it’s none of the above Chris, he’s gone.” She shook her head slowly. If only Chris realised this was going to happen from the beginning. Chris is stubborn, just like Piers is stubborn. They dealt with things their own way.

“Jill. Look I’m sorry! You win! He wins! Where is he?” The aggression was gone. Jill looked up. There was only pain and heartache on her partner’s face. The ever optimistic, emotional founder finally broken by the departure of his lieutenant and partner.

“He had requested a transfer to serve in Far East Branch. Indefinitely.” She shut the file she was looking at and crossed her arms.

“..….” He opened his mouth, but she raised her palm.

“Somebody’s got to be looking out for him. It’s good for his career too. Bearfield, he’s not yours. He could have been, but you lost your chance. He’s my best operative. _I_ value him even if _you_ don’t.”

Fuck.

He lumbered back a wounded man.

* * *

 

“……”

He had been staring at his bowl of noodles for the longest time. Something told him he should eat, but he had no appetite. His stomach had felt hollow all week. Food held no allure anymore.

I’m really fucked up aren’t I? He questioned himself. He’d rarely lose his appetite. He loved food more than anything. He looked forward to meals. But at moments like this, when it became even a chore to eat, he knew he was in a bad place.

He grabbed the chopsticks. Digging them in the bowl, idly swirling the ramen, but still made no motion to eat.

“Ramen’s best served hot, you know?” A warm, cheery voice rang out, and a figure sat down with her tray beside her, studying him studying his noodles.

“First day is always hard, but you need to eat.” He looked over at her. She had shoulder length black hair in the gentlest of curls and tied to two loose pigtails. Her skin was tanned from exercise and outdoors training, and her short and stocky frame was energetic and powerful. Above all, she wore an infectious smile, and he slowly found himself returning the grin.

“Perhaps something sweeter for your palate then?” She held out a small round treat in her hand, almost like a marshmallow. Pink in colour, dusted in a fine powder of flour.

“Try it?” She smiled, and pushed it to his hand.

Piers gave a sniff, and brought the treat to his lips and gave a bite. It was soft and springy, a bit like a gummy lolly. It had a filling inside, a red grainy paste. A mild sweetness, but not too much.

“Azuki mochi. Red bean packet with glutinous rice flour. Like it?” She brushed the hair out of her face and took a sip of tea.

He nodded. It wasn’t really what he ate, it was the fact that over here, in a brand new corner of the world, there was somebody who cared.

“My name is Merah. It means red bean. Merah Biji, Far East Branch SOA (special operations agent).” She extended a hand.

“Piers Nivans, North American Branch, SOU sniper, but right now, serving as an SOA too.” He took the hand.

“Piers. We’ve heard about you.” She smiled. “Read lots about you in the newsletters.”

“Oh, really? I never paid much attention to that stuff…” He gave an embarrassed grin.

“Eat. Ramen doesn’t like being eaten cold.” She led by example.

He found himself smiling and following along.

* * *

 

It was a breath of new life. With Merah around, adapting to Far East Branch was far from the daunting experience he feared it might have been. He’s no stranger to Asia, having spent time abroad here during his military academy exchange to learn a language, then spending time again when deployed with the First Special Forces Group. Still, this was the first time visiting Far East BSAA branch.

“A transfer huh? Wonder what made you came all the way?” Merah said, taking him on a personal guided tour.

“I need a new start, a change of pace. I was getting too comfortable where I was.” Well, he was, until it became too uncomfortable. “It’s good to have an exchange of some sort, broaden my horizons, get to network around the globe a bit.”

“Sure, you couldn’t have picked a better place!” Merah smiled.

She was right.

Piers had greater freedom to operate as an SOA, and he and Merah fast became easy partners on the field. They were the top young agents from their respective branches, had similar ideals, appeals, desires, abilities, passion. They were almost a perfect match, in every way.

They were easy friends off the field too. Merah loved food even more than he did. They spent evenings prowling about, trying every new cuisine, swapping notes, giving insights from their background and enjoying the thrill of someone into the same thing they were. They liked the same movies, watched the same bands, and Piers didn’t mind the quirky anime that she would pick out for them to sit down and watch together. They were almost a perfect match, in every way. Every way but one.

* * *

 

“Thanks for taking me out, Piers.” Merah smiled, as Piers walked her back to her dorm room.

They exchanged a hug, and Piers felt for a moment he should kiss her. It felt right. Perhaps she was what he was looking for?

“I enjoyed myself too, Merah. You’re good company.” He held back, and gave a wave as he walked back to his room, knowing with sniper senses she was watching him out the whole way.

Fuck.

I can’t fuck this up again.

* * *

 

His schedule was thrown totally off. He kept missing reminders and meetings that his lieutenant would always reminded him of. He had an inbox full of the rifle magazines he’d subscribe to, to look over and pass to Piers and discuss over lunch.  He struggled to put coherent sentences together on his reports. He almost couldn’t keep the rookies in check in training. 

He had a nice good cop bad cop routine going with Piers. Piers would be the harsh taskmaster, and when the team complained he’d soften them up a little and let them know Piers was looking out for them in his own way.  Now? He was working the recruits to the ground even harsher than Piers. He didn’t give two shits. Nobody dared to complain. Chris led by example and did double the reps of what he demanded. Alpha Team learnt to suck it up. The saw the way he busted up a kettlebell after a recruit dared question his program.

He was fast losing the joy and colour in his work.  That was always his excuse. Work first. Personal life later. Person issues never. Now work was hell, and he’d have no life back to escape to. Piers always gave him reprieve, he always gave him a chance to laugh, to forget the burden on his shoulders. He was turning into a ghost of a man.

“Jill, can we go out?” Thin brows furrowed at her old dishevelled partner. She checked her watch. Ten to six.

“Sure, but only if you’re not drinking again.”

“Fine.”

They sat at the table, she was tucking into her gnocchi, he was idly poking at his meatballs.

“Jill, would you ever go out with me?” He was looking at his food, mind in a million places.

“Bearfield, seriously?” Thin lips pursed as she scanned him up and down. Once upon a time, when they were still young and fearless, sure thing. Now? Bioterrorism had ripped a new one in both their hearts. Almost literally.

He gave a shrug.

“You could have at least looked me in the eye and smiled.” Jill raised a brow, looking over him like a big sister despite being younger than Chris.

“Sorry.” He kept eating. He obviously just had thrown it out there.

“Chris. You’re a good guy. You still are, you just can’t let yourself fall to bits. You can’t expect everyone to fix what you can’t deal with yourself.”

“I’m a fucking basket case Jill. Look at me. I’m falling apart. Alpha Team is falling apart. If you weren’t around the fucking BSAA is falling apart.”

“Do you want some time off Chris? Think things through? Live a little?” She offered. She’ll help him make time, if he wanted.

“I don’t know. What am I going to do apart from work?” He bit the spaghetti. He’d forgotten what it felt like to not wear the world’s burden on his shoulders.

“You have a month. Bravo will train with Alpha Team. Don’t worry yourself with the details” She finished her gnocchi and tried to give a warm smile.

“Chris, you really need to fix yourself. You can’t go on like this, you’re a porcupine driving spikes to anyone who gets close, and you hurt yourself too shutting everyone else out. You can’t live on defensive mechanisms anymore. Life isn’t the battlefield, you can’t treat everyone who gets close like a BOW. I can’t fix you, Claire can’t fix you. Piers… Piers was turning into you, and I have to move him away. You can hate me, but I have spent 15 years dealing with you. Piers is not ending up that way under my watch.”

“Piers…” Chris set his fork down. The name that has been in his mind day and night. Does he really have feelings for his same sex partner?

* * *

 

He did the only thing he could. Got to a bar, got drunk, got wasted. Picked up some chick. She had caramel brown hair and lithe limbs over creamy skin. They kissed, she liked what he packed.  They got a room.

He kissed her hungrily, savouring every inch of creamy skin. She laughed, moaning lightly from the friction of the stubble. I can do this, he told himself.

They groped and made out, he let go of his inhibitions, letting her fingers run over his hairy body, letting the manicured nails delight in his pride and joy.

He couldn’t get it up.

What the fuck.

She was graceful, she kissed and snuggled, and left electrifying touches on his body while he pretended to pass out and let her leave the room with a gentle kiss, saying it’s alright, saying she understood.

Fuck.

What the fuggidy fuck.

He thrashed in bed, stroking himself, thinking of her creamy skin and lithe body, her soft curves and tender skin.  He worked his body, demanded it to respond but he was fucked to high heavens.

What the fuck. He was only 37. Hello midlife crisis.

* * *

 

He tried the next day, and the day after, with and without alcohol. Three disappointed partners. He felt he was barely a man. He might have to see a doctor.

“Captain.” His ears perked at the familiar sound, and he turned to see one of Alpha team in the bar. He nodded and smiled, and got the hell out of there. He was disappointed it wasn’t Piers.

Why the fuck did he have a chub in his pants?

Captain. Fuck. It was the way Piers always called him.

He thought of the spiky hair, the hazel eyes, the creamy skin. The slight knot in the brow, the thick, smooth jawline, the sensual lips, the thoughtful sniper.

What the fuck.

He was hard as a rock.

Maybe he didn’t need that doctor anymore.

But he was still having that mid life crisis.

He flew out to Far East Branch the next day.

* * *

 

It didn’t take much, he told them to tone down the welcome. It was just a casual visit, hopped on the next military flight.

He sat in the cafeteria. He’s been here since 1130. It’s the one place he’ll most likely see him.

They arrived at 1200 on the dot. He felt a thousand emotions at the smiling form of his former lieutenant. He was so relaxed, carefree, happy to be there. He was sitting with a girl. A young, pretty agent of the branch. They laughed, they told jokes. They traded bits of food off their plate. Other agents joined them. They had a lot of fun. They were loud and cheery.

And he was here, the only other white guy in the room, sticking out like a sore thumb, asking what the fuck he was doing here.

He thought about the thousands scenarios of what ifs when he did see Piers. He’d stroll up, shake his hand, ask him how’s life. Say he’s just swinging by on business, keep it casual, keep it cool. Ask him for dinner, check how he thinks of life. See if he misses NA. If he misses him.

Or he’d catch him doing laps and ask for a race, each panting and struggling to best the others as they had done countless of times.

None of the scenarios involved him pairing up with another hot young agent, relaxed and happy and in his element. Making friends, being the center of the party that he was always capable of.

He’d missed his chance.

He booked himself in for the next military flight back to the US. The exoticism of Asia held no mystery if there wasn’t one to explore it with.

* * *

 

“Piers, you can’t hide from him forever.” Merah said as they took a walk in the afternoon daylight.

“I don’t know, he said he wants to keep things professional. What else am I supposed to do? I’ll be there if he needs me, but he clearly doesn’t anymore. Not in his personal life. He’s a grown ass captain. He can take care of himself without me.”

“Piers.” She put a hand around his shoulder. “You have feelings for him still. You’re a good guy, I’d be amazed if he didn’t take stock of what he missed out on. You deserve the best.” She leaned in and gave him a kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks Merah.” He smiled and returned the hug. “You’re such a good friend. I’m sorry I…”

“Hey, you are who you are, you should never, ever, ever apologise for that.” Her voice is strong but her smile is sincere. Merah never held back from telling Piers just what he should and shouldn’t get out of his head. “Don’t let me catch you saying ‘Captain, I’m sorry I...’ ok?”

“Yes, ma’am.” He returned an apologetic grin instead.

“Alright, which ice cream flavours do we want to try today?” She was already trotting along to the stand.

* * *

 

Chris walked in the range. Not working still, just wanted to have a feeling of guns again. As usual, it was dead this time of the day, now that Piers was no longer around.

He looked at Pier’s rifle in the corner, and his heart felt a tug. He picked up the rifle.

“Hey, _Tophie_.” He ran his fingers over the forgotten barrels and he got some 12.7mm ammo. He remembered the name Piers gave to his rifle. _His._

“Sorry Piers had forgotten all about you. All about us.” He shook his head. Chris. Tophie.  They were a pair in Piers heart. Now, he’d left them both, broken, forgotten with only each other for company. He gave the barrel a polish. He knew Piers always would kept his rifles in top condition.

He distracted himself, carefully disassembling the barrels and wiping it down with the anti-lint cloth, the exercise distracting him from the ice picks in his heart each time he recalled how wounded Piers was when he denied his feelings, when he denied his coffee, when he denied his invitation at the range… In turn, Piers denied his place and authority as a captain. He denied on Alpha Team, on North American Branch. He moved his world as far as he could from him, to make a new start. To get the fuck away from Chris Redfield and his pot of shit. Such was the resolute of his stubborn, stupid sniper. Shithead.

He reassembled the gun and traced the grips and the trigger with his fingers, thinking of Pier’s touch on his rifle. He lifted the gun on his shoulder like Piers did, braced himself, and fired towards the outdoors target.

He sucked.

Chris and Tophie struggled and rebelled against each other. The rifle kicked and bucked with each shot, and Chris cursed and stammered at each miss. His shoulder protested at the kick, and he cursed his marksmanship for losing his touch.

God damn it.

He pulled the bipod out, dropped on his knees and fired from the prone position.

Finally.

It took a while, but he finally was landing hits. He thought of Piers’ concentration, and focused himself on the sniping. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink. Clink.

Fuck yes.

Maybe that’s how he had to be. In his shooting. In his relationships. Start from the beginning. Learn to fire on all fours from the ground up. Crawl to his knees and one day learn how to stand.

He’d expected relationship things to just happen, to run into his arms. He’d have to crawl first.

* * *

 

“Go Merah, I’ll cover you!” Piers cleared the perimeter.  He’s in full camouflage gear, face covered with paint and his shemagh, taking out all the hostiles while Merah break in to secure the intel. It was hard having a team of two, he had to draw fire and play hide and seek from the bushes.

“I’ve made it in, keep safe out there.” He sighed in relief that he had distracted them for long enough.

He waited nervously while she hacked into the database.

“I’ve got it.  Let’s clear out, it’s blowing in 90 seconds!”

He started another diversion. There’s no more personnel on the west wing but he wanted to draw attention there anyway. He missed not having the anti-material rifle.  He only had antipersonnel weapons but those did nothing against walls.

“Get to evac!” He called seeing the slim figure of Merah heading out.

Unfortunately they met reinforcements heading to the compound as they tried to slip out.

It was a full blown firefight.  He took out his MP-AF and painted the enemies red. Merah was flipping all over the place, fighting in close and medium range, guns and fists flying and dominating the battlefield.

Still no sign of evac.

“Merah, Piers, this is HQ, our chopper got shot down! You have to hold out!”

“Do you not have anything else?”

“… zap…”

Shit.

He had to start conserving ammo, and he got close range too into the fray, using every trick of combat to knock out his targets and not get hit. He was doing fine, but there were more waves of reinforcements. It wasn’t just personnel now. It was armoured vehicles.

“This is HQ, evac on route in 30 seconds. Hold your position!”

They scrambled, hearing the roar and shower of bullets as an attack helicopter fired at the incoming vehicles.

They scrambled up the ladder, narrowly avoiding being live targets while the chopper did some impressive gunwork on the enemy. They disengaged, and got the hell out of the zone.

“You ok Merah?” Piers said, dusting himself off and removing the shemagh from his head.

“Been better.” Merah was slightly battered, but it was going to take a lot more to rough up BSAA’s top young agents.

“That was close.” He panted, giving a curious glance at the helmeted and masked figure of the pilot. “Thanks for getting our asses out of there.” The pilot returned a thumbs up.

“Let’s celebrate with some roast duck.” Merah was already thinking of food again. Survival means nothing if there was nothing to live for.

They got back to base without incident, and Merah and Piers were rushed to first aid and debrief after the mission.

“What a silly pair.” Chris shook his head watching them dash out from the chopper. Proud, confident and strong, but they almost had bitten more than they could chew. Good thing he had the clearance to get an apache. He hadn’t used his level ten clearance to volunteer for a long time, but he had been watching Piers’ progress and he was glad he did.

* * *

 

He had just changed out of his flight suit and taken a shower, wiping his face with a towel.  He never liked helmets. They made him hot, but he figured a disguise would be nice.

He got his gear from his locker, and froze when he caught the silent sniper sitting on a bench opposite, cleaned up and relaxed.

“Sup, Pilot.” He was full of life, and sass, and the delight at catching him out of his element.

“Fuck you, Piers. How did you get in here!” He smiled nervously and scratched the back of his head.

“Home ground advantage.” His lips curled up. “I’m a sniper. I see _every_ detail.” His eyes roamed casually across his hairy body.

“I should have known.” Chris sat down, looking for his briefs in the bag.

“You’re, uh, just gonna watch me change?” He didn’t care honestly. Alpha Team showered together daily.

“It’s been too long.” Piers grinned, but stood up and strolled to the mirror to wash his face and fix his hair, giving Chris a chance for privacy.

“I guess I do owe you one.” He said, turning to see Chris pulling his boots on. He evidently wasted no time.

“What’s past is past. You were the best man I’ve worked with. Still is.” Chris gave a small smile. He was still sad that Piers had transferred out, but at least they’re together, talking. “I’m glad Far East Branch is going well. You and Merah do make quite an impressive pair…” He continued, but suddenly lost his words. Piers was his partner… now he’s alone.

“I owe her a lot.” Piers said. “Like this conversation, for starters.”

“What?”

“She told me you’d be here. She said no roast duck tonight unless I talk to you.” He shrugged.

“Piers…” Chris put his boot on the bench. So Piers didn’t want to be here after all…

“Merah and I are best friends. She was the one who scolded me for never giving you a chance. So here it is.” He sat, also looking to the floor.

“You’re not… with her?”

“In another life, perhaps, but I am what I am, and I’m never, ever going to apologise for that. Captain, or not.” He bit his lip, remembering with strength the most important lesson Merah had taught him.

“You’re great just the way you are, Piers.” Chris reached a hand to the shoulder. Piers tensed, but slowly relaxed on his touch.

“I shouldn’t have shut you out. I just wasn’t ready for it then.” He looked up, hopeful. Piers was still ignoring his gaze.

“It’s ok. I… brought you something, one partner to another…” He pointed to the case with the anti-materiel rifle. He was going to leave it in Piers’ locker.

“Chris.” Piers ran his fingers slowly over the case, feeling the touches of a long lost friend.

“Tophie misses you.”

“I’ve… moved on.”

“Piers…” the words wounded his heart. After all that. This was it.

“No. I’ve moved on from trying to live in your shadow. I was trying too hard to be like you. Letting work run my life, run me to the ground, pushing all of myself at the cause of bioterrorism. I was living for your admiration, living to be more like Chris Redfield because somehow I thought it would bring me closer to you.” He opened the case, caressing the cold metal of his rifle.

“I was wrong. I’d let my feelings evolve into work. I’d let the man I admired become the admiration I craved. I was throwing myself into a one way street where there was no escape.”

“It was you who taught me that.”

Chris bit his lip. Every word of Piers hurt and hit something in his core. This was exactly what Jill talked about, why he needed to fix himself. Yet here he was, shot down by Piers all over again. He deserved it. He was stupid, and in a way, he was glad Piers learnt his lesson before he suffered as much as he did.

“What’s happened has happened Chris. I needed this. Merah and the Far East Branch taught me that having a full and vibrant life can coexist with being a top agent and dedicated sniper. I have to try it out for myself, so I can be stronger, so I can be tougher. So I can come back one day, and maybe try to put you back together.”

“Piers…” Chris laid his back to the bench, growing more and more confused.

“I haven’t given up. If you are willing, we can still get you back, Captain.”

The irony. Here he was, hoping one day to bring Piers back, while Piers had long been plotting ten steps ahead for his sake.

“You’re right. I’d been a shithead. I fucked up. I should have been in touch with my true self, my inner feelings. I’m still all kinds of fucked up, but you taught me enough is enough…” he glanced at the sniper disassembling and reassembling the gun. “I’m still on leave, I’ve got plenty of time. We can hang out over here, start all over again…”

Piers closed the rifle case. “Spend some time with Merah and I guarantee we can do just that.” He smiled, they’ll finally get back on track with things.

“I am who I am, I won’t apologise for that. I won’t make you apologise for being who you are either, as long as you finally can accept that as who you wanted to be.” He put the rifle in his locker.

“Chris, we can turn over a new page. There is still a lot I can learn from you. We’re still partners.” He stood, and extended a hand to Chris.

“To the end.” Chris took the hand and stood up. They exchanged a quick, awkward embrace.

“Duck.” He said.

Chris ducked awkwardly, but he was confused.

“Haha” the playful lieutenant gave a chesty laugh. “Do you like roast duck?”

“Oh? Never tried it, but sure…” He was remembering now, yes, Piers always loved his food. But he only shared it with people he liked.

“Good. Merah’s waiting, let’s get us some big, fat, juicy duck.”


End file.
